


Trying

by Nymphcastle



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, angsty4evr, idk man ive got a lot of feelings about a lot of things, mentions of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphcastle/pseuds/Nymphcastle
Summary: The first time Mickey Milkovich set foot on a plane, he was sixteen years old. He'd taken a handful of personal items, shoved them into a ratty backpack he almost  remembers stealing from an open locker at school, and spent the entire 100 dollars he had on a one way ticket to Houston, Texas in the middle of the night. The second  time, he is 23, with a checked bag and matching carry-on, a debit card in his wallet and a round trip ticket back home on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of September.Or  : Mickey has to face the truth for the first time in 7 years.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	1. Shamer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clickin on my new lil passion project! Writing has always been a big form of therapy for me and diving back in is probably gonna keep me from going insane at my day job! 
> 
> Chapter title is taken from the Kississipi song by the same name, most chapter titles will be, ya girls got a whole ass playlist dedicated to writing this bad boy.

_"You keep the way you've received this, in the backs of your pockets. We know you seldom see it, the way the corner cuts your lips. You're ashamed, it hurts I know this. Your snoring, echoes in your neck. It tempts me so in quiet, I feel I'm being laughed at"_

**\- Shamer, Kississippi**

The first time Mickey Milkovich set foot on a plane, he was sixteen years old. He'd taken a handful of personal items, shoved them into a ratty backpack he almost remembers stealing from an open locker at school, and spent the entire 100 dollars he had on a one way ticket to Houston, Texas in the middle of the night. The second time, he is 23, with a checked bag and matching carry-on, a debit card in his wallet and a round trip ticket back home on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of September. It feels different now, head resting against the small oval window as he watches the city he was born in come into view. He swore he'd never come back, made in shaky promises to himself when he slept on the ground outside of Greyhound bus stops in the Texas heat, that no matter what, he'd never come back. Those promises shattered a few days before he booked the second flight of his life, with a single phone call from his sister in the middle of the night. They'd kept in touch, off and on throughout the years, but the physical distance had only strengthened the emotional kind that had been bred into their blood through generations of Milkovich bullshit. He'd been asleep, wrapped in the pale blue sheets of his queen size bed when his phone had rang, an outdated picture of Mandy scrolling across the screen as he grumbled to consciousness.

"Iggy was shot"

It was all she had said for a few minutes, her shuddering breaths punctuating every second that he didn't respond. Eventually he managed a 'how' or 'why', he can't really remember now, and she laid out all the ugly details for him in the span of a five minute call. He'd been on a run, something Terry had organized from the inside, shit went sideways, the owners of the warehouse they were robbing had invested in protection. Iggy took three to the chest, died on the operating table. They both stayed silent for a while after that. They'd both mostly managed to escape the fates that had seemed sealed so long ago, Mickey by running, Mandy by working her way out of the Southside one foot at a time. She was doing better now, a stable job doing some kind of personal assistant shit for a fashion magazine, an apartment Downtown, with a skyline view and a heated pool. She had a dog, and a boyfriend that didn't bloody her nose every other day, but even with the escapes they had made, this kind of shit had a way of reminding them exactly who they were, deep down in their DNA, in the places they couldn't change. It takes a few days to make the arrangements, a cremation and a pale blue urn with his initials engraved in deep gold cursive. Mickey didn't intend on flying down, on doing anything more than sending her a few hundred bucks to help out with the cost. The idea of stepping foot in the old house made his entire body scream out in fear, but she was persistent, as she always had been. He caved, the way she knew he would, after a few tears and talk of selling the house. There was nobody left to take care of it, no one wanted to anyway, and she would need help clearing all the shit out of it before putting up a listing.

Now he was here, leg bouncing as the pilot announced their imminent landing. Mandy had offered to pick him up from O'hare, grumbling at his refusal as he explained he'd order and uber and meet her at her apartment so she didn't have to leave work early. It had seemed practical, even if it was a front for his need to collect himself before encountering any familiar faces. He was thankful for it even more so now, with wobbling legs and a suitcase pulled behind him. He needed a smoke and coffee desperately, finding the closest Starbucks and all but inhaling a salted caramel cold brew while ordering his ride. His arms still felt weak when Derek, his driver, pulled up in a silver Mercedes, waving a wrinkled hand towards the 5'7 brunette, a dimpled smile resting on his lips as he got out, helping tuck the suitcase carefully into the trunk. They made casual conversation, the weather, which was unusually pleasant for Fall, The Bears, a detective show out on Amazon Prime that Derek and his wife, Elle, were really enjoying. Somewhere along the 20 minute drive to Mandy's, Mickey zoned out, eyes fixed out the window as buildings faded away in the rear view mirror.

He'd only said goodbye to Iggy, and only because the blonde Milkovich had barged into the bathroom while Mickey was wiping away the rest of the blood from his busted lip. He'd looked down at the backpack, eyes widening before coming to something indicative of acceptance. He'd witnessed the beating, Terry would have probably killed him if it weren't for Iggy barging in about a run they were taking that night with the Russians. The Milkovich patriarch had left his youngest son there, bleeding on the ground barely hanging to consciousness, and despite the ringing in his ears and cramping in his stomach, he knew he had to leave. If he'd been there when Terry got home, he'd have surely finished the job, buried him in the yard and taken a piss on the dirt. He wondered, after it all, if Iggy had known why when he nodded his head, stepping out of the way so that Mickey could bolt out the front door and down the road towards the first Taxi he could find. If he did, if Terry had told him, which could have gone either way, he never said a word about it. The two times they'd spoken since Mickey had been in Texas, he'd only ever talked about work and the girls he was hooking up with. It felt unfair now, that Iggy was the one to die here.

"You all set?" Derek asked once Mickey had lugged his suitcase onto the sidewalk outside of Mandy's building. The brunette nodded, shaking the older mans hand before promising a 5 star review, turning to soak in the grey bricked building in front of him. Closing his eyes for a moment before stepping forward and into the elevator, finger jamming down against the third floor button.

///

**Mandy M.**

_Hey! Running a little a late, traffic is a mess. There's a spare key under the succulent, let yourself in!_

Mickey's phone buzzes, and he scoffs, looking down at the black, skull shaped planter and rolling his eyes. 7 years and her taste hasn't changed a bit. He follows her instructions, pushing the white wooden door open to reveal a modern looking two bedroom, complete with a sliding glass door overlooking the street. Her decor is simpler than he would have expected, mostly off white leather and a few pieces of gray fur scattered across the surfaces. He finds the spare bedroom quickly, letting his luggage fall to the laminate floor with a thud before collapsing against the firm mattress. He stays there for a bit, arm draped over his forehead, taking long slow breaths that smell like lavender, thanks to an essential oil diffuser he spotted in the living room a few minutes earlier. He slides away from the rough jersey sheets and pads through the small apartment, eyeing the little trinkets and photographs scattered along every surface. There's a few with her and Iggy, standing outside a taco shop and in front of a car, their arms draped over each other, cigarettes hanging from their lips with matching grins, one or two with her friends from high school, even a small one, beside her stack of mail, of him, middle fingers up and a joint perched between his teeth, the fresh ink on his knuckles sharply contrasting against his over exposed, flash saturated skin. The tattoos have mostly faded now, just the soft outline of letters visible if you're close enough, it will probably only take a few more years for them to vanish completely, every physical trace of his ties here gone with them. He stops at the last picture lining the living room walls. It's the Gallagher kid, with the crooked smile and freckle covered face, his arms wrapped tightly around Mandy from behind. He's taller now, thinner somehow too, which logically Mickey knows happens as you grow, but it's still startling to see. His eyes are the same, shimmering green and lined with ginger colored eyelashes. For a minute, Mickey almost reaches out and touches the glass, but pulls his hands away, shoving them in his pocket as he turns to face the door just in time for his sister to come bouncing in.

"Holy shit" she exhales, running towards him, kicking off a pair of blue suede heels in the process. Her hair is blonde now, flowing over her slender shoulders in loose waves, and she smells like vanilla bean perfume when her body collides with his. He finds himself hugging her back, suddenly and fiercely, a desire to be close to her smacking him the face as he slams his eyes closed.

"You look....so good, holy shit" she finally speaks again, pulling away to study him.

"shut the fuck up" he grumbles, pulling her back into a hug. He smiles against her hair. He does look better than she has to remember, the scrawny and filthy teenager he left as replaced by someone with a gym membership and regular bathing habits. His hair is longer now, brushed back with a smear of gel to keep it out of his eyes, the wavy texture more noticeable thanks to expensive shampoo and a regular barber. She gives him the official tour, leading him through the walk in closet and high def television she bought with her tax return. They laugh at the pictures of them as kids she has beside her bed and the old t shirts still hanging in her closet next to a dozen or so expensive dresses she wears to work events.

"You hungry?" she asks after changing out of the blouse and slacks she'd arrived in, exchanging the office attire for a pair of black cut off shorts and a white tank top, suddenly leaving him feeling way too overdressed in the button down and jeans he'd carefully picked out.

"Could eat...whatcha got?" he asks, following her to the fridge, which she opens with a sigh. The answer to his question, is obviously not much. There's a half empty jar of pickles, an assortment of White Claws and an expired coffee creamer bottle in the door.

"I eat a lot of take out, don't judge" she explains, kicking the door shut with her foot.

"oh, I'm judging...ever heard of grocery delivery, shithead?" he teases, earning him a punch in the arm. The years between them melt away, almost instantly, and he feels his shoulders relax for the first time since he landed. They bicker about food, before deciding to hop on over to a chinese buffet down the street for a quick noodle fix before calling it an early night.

"Well actually..." she starts, sending another round of tension straight back into Mickey's body. "Ian's having this little get together thing, at his apartment. It's nothing major, he knew I was sad as fuck and probably needed a distraction...." she continues, tugging her hair into a ponytail as she slides into a pair of sandals.

"It was before I knew you were actually gonna come" her expression softens, and despite the jolt of pain he feels in his chest, Mickey gets it. He hasn't been here, for anything that's happened in Mandy's life in the last seven years. There was no reason to assume this would be any different. She has friends, people who she sees every day, people who see her. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't even hesitate to tag along, and for a moment he considers asking if she knows, if she always knew. He doesn't have to though, the smile on her face when he agrees to go for a bit, giving her shit about being friends with a Gallagher, is all the confirmation that he needs that she has no clue what happened. He doubts the redhead even remembers, or if he does, if its anything other than a cringeworthy memory from his youth.

"I do need a shower before we head out, planes stink like a motherfucker" he laughs, lifting his armpit and pushing her face into the small sweat stain growing.

"You're fucking gross" Mandy gags, pushing him towards the white subway tiled bathroom, and he keeps his smile in place until the door shuts behind him.

///

Mickey had known he liked boys since the second grade, found himself watching the way their hair fell across their foreheads during kickball, and wondering how their hands would feel in his. He hated it, the sinking feeling in his gut when a boy with pretty eyes would laugh at something he said, how it would make his heart twist and turn in his chest before he fell asleep at night. He tried to make it stop, punched it down until it was bloody and bruised underneath his fists, or smashed into the ground with the heel of his boot. He followed his dad into the alley, he kicked and screamed the slurs, but it didn't help. He still wondered how a warm kiss would feel if the person attached to it smelled like dirt and cheap cigarettes. So he did what had to, slept with girls, screamed at queers, threatened them with guns as he got older. He smiled, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the Milkovich men, baring teeth and hissing laughs in the faces of their victims.

Gallagher should have been one. If his efforts had really worked, he would have taken a tire iron to the gingers face the minute Mandy told him the truth. He didn't though, didn't tell Terry, didn't even tell Iggy. He sat with the information, finding a reason to wander into the towel heads store, just to catch a glimpse of a freckled forearm and a wisp of red hair. He wondered what it would feel like, to be free like that, to admit to someone, anyone, what your heart wanted. The kid started spending more and more time at the Milkovich house, an act of bravery Mickey secretly admired. He'd plop down onto the couch beside Mandy, shoving bagel bites into his mouth and getting his ass beat in Halo. The feeling got harder to ignore.

"Mickey hurry the fuck up" Mandy is shouting from the otherside of the bathroom door. Snapping her brother from the trip down into his subconscious. He shuts the water off, running a towel over his slender body before tugging on a new pair of jeans and a navy blue shirt, bunching the long sleeves up to his elbows and pushing through the door.

"Chill your tits, lets go get some noodles" he laughs, shoving her out of the way with his shoulder.

They take her car, a clean Lexus RX that smells like cherry jolly ranchers and stale menthols. He listens to her babble, watching the streets pass by, small memories rushing back to him with each stoplight they pass through. He's still not out, not even in Houston, where the threat of Terry's fists were all but ground into dust. He refused to let himself have that kind of peace, wouldn't dare indulge himself. He'd accepted it, the life alone he had built with the weight of the secret, he hardly thought about it most days now, but there was something about being back that sent the electric sting through his veins, taunting him with the truth. Somewhere along the way, Mandy turns the radio up, filling the space between them with carefully plucked guitar strings.

"Tell me about Texas" she demands, running a hand through blonde waves as she pulls carefully into a turn lane. He shrugs, fumbling with a cigarette to avoid meeting her eyes.

"Whatcha wanna know?" he grumbles, the flame from the lighter nearly hitting his index finger as he takes a long inhale.

"What's it like? You seein' anybody, work good?" she fires off a few of the most generic questions Mickey has ever heard in his life, which makes sense after he thinks about it for a moment. They're practically strangers now, the blood bond only running so deep before the realities of an adulthood spent without each other scramble in.

"It's hot, humid most of the year. It snowed once, right after I got there actually, weirdest shit for them, pretty much shut the city down. Work is work, man. It pays the bills and my boss isn't a complete moron." he indulges her, earning an amused smile in response as they turn towards the brightly lit buffet.

"You seeing anyone?" she asks again, a little more force behind her tone as she pulls into a parking space, turning to face him before snatching the last few drags worth of cigarette away from his hands.

"Real hot 90 year old grandma, big ole tits" he raises a brow, making a watermelon sized gesture with his now empty hands. She throws a punch towards his arm before flicking the used up smoke to the ground and pulling the key from her ignition.

"I fucking hate you" she scoffs, falling against him as they push through the door, welcomed by the scent of orange chicken and fried rice.


	2. Happy To See Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old faces, same memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : implied past sexual abuse. 
> 
> Fuck Terry Milkovich.

_"How could you compose yourself each day, knowing all I know. Cross my heart and hope to die, I swear. But we remain, separate in disdain, barely breathing enemies and I grow so dark, I can barely sleep"_

**\- Nolsey, Sorority Noise**

"I can't fuckin drive" Mandy laughed, raindrops beginning to fall against her forehead as she looked up, the Sake Bombs they'd indulged in making both of their heads spin.   
"Don't look at me, bitch" Mickey slurred, leaning against the outside of the building, fumbling with an unlit cigarette as Mandy dug through the leather crossbody hanging across her slender frame for her phone. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wasted with another person, let alone someone who shared his initials. He'd made acquaintances at work, a few people he'd grab a beer with on weekends or holidays, but for the most part, he drank alone these days. It felt nice, the warmth rising from his cheeks as the rain fell in thick droplets down against his hair.

  
"It's a short walk to Ian's, or a 15 dollar Uber. Your call" Mandy sighed, lighting a cigarette of her own this time before dropping her phone back into the bag on her waist, obviously making her position clear. He could use the walk, even if his legs felt mostly like gelatin at this point. They fell into line, side by side as their strides synced up. The last time he'd been in this neighborhood, there had only been The Fountain and a few cheap quick stops lining the streets. A big difference from the artisan coffee shops and hot yoga studios he found himself peering into now. He'd been here, not to long before everything had gone down, a smile on his face as he'd shotgunned a beer in the alley, a freckled face peering at him from behind a matching can. He could almost smell it, the alcohol and smoke rolling from the other boys mouth as he leaned in a little close, earning him a solid punch in the gut, even if there hadn't been any real force behind its intention. It had become almost normal then, the two of them wandering around aimlessly in search of something to get into. Sometimes they shot off a few rounds in the abandoned buildings, Mickey's heart racing when their fingers grazed for a moment too long when passing boxes of ammo between their hands. He'd convinced himself, or had attempted to at least, that it was all innocent, just boys being boys and nothing more. He drowned the part of him that wondered how the redhead would react if he let his fingers stay, how it would feel to fall against his chest for more than a drunken split second. Told himself if he didn't acknowledge it, it didn't exist. 

  
"So he's like, a video game developer now, which is fuckin wild" Mandy's voice, as usual, pulled Mickey away from his musings. It took a few minutes for him to find the direction of her one sided conversation, piecing together the background she was giving him about the middle Gallagher son. He'd joined the military right of high school, but things hadn't worked out for very long and he'd come home a couple years later. He found a cushy job with a startup, testing different first person shooter games for 10 bucks an hour, and apparently found his niche somewhere along the way. It had apparently been really lucrative, judging by the apartment complex the Milkovich siblings found themselves standing in front of now. 

  
"Shit man" was all Mickey could manage, scratching at his eyebrow as they crossed the front parking lot, full of luxury sedans and massive SUV's to an intricate silver gate, two massive lion statues on either side. Mandy shrugged as if it was nothing, her fingers quickly typing in a code against the metal keypad. A few moments later the gates swung open and Mickey followed behind is sister towards the deep crimson stucco buildings ahead. Mickey could feel the thumping in his chest, assuring himself it was just the alcohol and heavy weight of peanut noodles as they climbed a spiral staircase towards the second row of apartments, stopping abruptly in front of a deep brown door. Mandy pushed it open, not an ounce of hesitation in her body as she stepped into the room, which was packed to the brim with the most mismatched group of people Mickey had ever seen. On one end, it looked like an Urban Outfitters ad, complete with half shaved heads and twirled mustaches, and mingled in, the typical southside trash he'd always associated with Chicago, with home. He could pinpoint a few different Gallaghers based on their features alone, the oldest one, Fiona, he thinks, is dancing, a bottle of amber liquid lifted above her head as she bounces from foot to foot with whatever basement sounding indie band is blaring from the speakers. Mickey shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his head down as he follows behind Mandy, but she'd already seemed to have forgotten her older brother tailing her lead as she rounds towards a glistening kitchen, as equally packed with art school idiots and graphic designers. Mandy seemed to know them all, embracing each other with the kind of energy that he'd only seen before in puppies or candy stuffed toddlers. It was a mistake agreeing to come, he could already feel it as he slipped past his sister towards a bucket of craft beer, snagging the single bud from the bunch and pushing his way towards an open patio door. 

  
Parties had never really been his thing, even as a kid. If he was gonna get fucked up, it was usually better spent on top of a roof somewhere or in the dugouts where no one would try and strike up useless conversation that mostly served as a buffer between the booze and the puke that was inevitable for most teenagers. There had been a few that he couldn't avoid, mostly family get togethers. After particularly big runs, Terry would shove everyone they knew into The Alibi, buying round after round of drinks and inevitably tossing a few lines off the bathroom sink into the mix. When Terry was locked up, which was more often than not, Iggy would use the house as his 24/7 Rage Cave, filling it to the brim with half naked girls and any sort of narcotic he could get his hands on. He'd have thought this place was a joke, the thought brought a slight smile to his lips as he looked out at the crowded streets on the other side of the man made pond visible from the balcony. His brother had been Southside through and through, he'd told Mickey once that they were fucked for life, there wasn't ever gonna be a happy ending for them, no light at the end of the tunnel, just the same shit day in and day out until it stopped. It seemed weird now, that he was the only one that didn't get out. Mickey wondered if he'd even have wanted to, or if this was how he wanted to go. 

  
"there you are" Mandy's voice is light and airy as she leans, just slightly, over the edge of the railing. 

  
"Hiding already?" she asks, a taunting expression on her face as she hands him a disposable shot glass before assuring him it was only a lemon drop and therefore nothing to be scared of. He shakes his head, scrunching his nose as he nods toward the illuminated skyline. 

"Just haven't seen it for a while" he hums, taking a long sip from the beer in his hand, following it quickly with the shot.

  
"Speaking of things you haven't seen for a while...IAN LOOK WHO IT IS" he feels Mandy's hands on his shoulders before he can react, turning him back to face the interior of the apartment. He sees the hair first, a sudden flame in his peripheral before the rest of the man attached to it comes fully into focus. He looks the same, just taller. The same lopsided grin is resting on his lips as he steps closer, mouth opening enough for sparkling teeth to make an appearance. 

  
"Long time no see, Mick" his voice is so deep, it catches the shorter of the two off guard, and Mickey finds himself off balance for a moment, looking up at the freckle covered face speaking to him. 

  
"Gallagher" he's thankful that some part of his brain is functioning on autopilot, a hand jutting out to offer a firm shake as something begins to bubble over in his stomach. Mandy is glowing between the two of them, eyes darting back and forth like one of those cat clocks from the cartoons. For a second, he's sure she knows, has to know, he wonders if everyone does, a sour taste growing in the back of his throat as Ian's palm collides with his. 

  
"Ian's been like...my stand in older brother while you were gone" she coos, alcohol seeping through her pores and the panic subsides momentarily. She's just excited, wants to share this part of her life with him, combine the two halves of her history. 

  
"Done a real shitty job though, took off for your entire associates degree" the ginger laughs, head tilted back as their hands separate. 

  
"Yeah, army or something right?" Mickey's still functioning brain cells ask. Ian nods in response, expression darkening for a second as he looks out past the brunette in front of him. An awkward tensions fills the space between them, settling somewhere in the pit of Mickey's stomach as every muscle in his legs beg to run away. He's saved though, by the sound of glass shattering and a roaring wave of laughter from the kitchen, pulling Ian's attention back towards the party. 

  
"should probably go save my house. It's good to see you Mick" the younger man smiles before pivoting on a tennis shoe clad foot to investigate whatever was broken, Mandy following just behind. He waits until their fully out of sight to let go of the breath he had been holding, searching for the second shot glass Mandy had sat down in favor of her calling as a social butterfly. He was gonna need a lot more to drink to survive any more of this. 

///  
  
It's easily after 3 am when the party begins to die down, people scrambling for the line of Ubers wrapped around the apartment building. It hadn't been horrible, as least not as unbearable as Mickey had been expecting. For the most part he was able to drink alone, wandering to the patio for a handful of smokes and watch as the water from the ponds slapped against the dirt on either side. At some point a Karaoke machine had been busted out, a few god awful renditions of Living On A Prayer were screamed at full volume until the neighbors started to complain. He'd tried, and failed to keep his eyes from wandering towards Ian every so often. He looked good, which was putting it mildly, arms wrapped tightly in a deep emerald colored sweater, red hair beginning to fall from its careful coiffed style as the night went on. There were a few guys there, flamboyant and full of cranberry vodka, who had taken to clinging against the lanky ginger. The sight of it twisted an invisible knife that had buried itself somewhere in Mickey's gut, but they left eventually too, taking the dull sting from his abdomen with them. 

  
"Hey, you seen my sister?" Mickey asks the Gallagher, Fiona, as she's scraping discarded beer bottles into a metal trashcan.   
"Yeah, I think she passed out in Ian's room a while back" she nods down a barely lit hallway towards a closed door, smiling as she squeezes a thin hand around his forearm for a moment. 

  
"It's really good to see you Mickey, know one really new how you were holding up. You left so suddenly..." she continues, wiping her palms down against ger denim cut off shorts. 

  
"Shit happens, y'know" he offers, leaving it at that before turning towards the hallway and pressing a single hand against the wooden door, pushing it open. Mandy, as promised, is out cold in the king size bed, black blankets bunched up between her legs and mouth wide open as soft snores fill the room. She looks younger, almost like time had stopped all those years ago. 

  
Terry had always been violent, for as long as Mickey could remember, his father reacted with fists before you could blink. His mother had tried, for years, to serve as a kind of buffer between the old alcoholic as his offspring, but eventually even she fell to rage and poison that seeped out of the walls in that house. Mandy had been the only one crying at her funeral, tears running down her cheeks as she clung to the stuffed rabbit she had gotten for Easter a few years before, a rare gift for one of the kids. Terry usually pawned anything that came through that wasn't of use to him, toys, books, board games were all collateral damage in their lives. Mickey had tried to comfort her, fingers brushing against her tiny hands and wiping her tears away, but his actions, were too soft, and earned him a sharp backhand against the cheek from their father. He didn't try to comfort her again, even after the muffled wails and sobs began to leak from under her bedroom door at night. He wondered when it stopped, if it ever really had, and how Mandy managed to get up every morning with the weight of what had been done. He's considered asking her before, but knew it would bring answers he didn't want and questions he couldn't face, and so, like everything else, he ran from it. 

  
"Typical. You try and wake her up from that and you'll end up with a black eye" a deep voice bounces off the drums of Mickey's ear as he feels a hand at the small of his back as Ian pushes past the doorway, smiling fondly down at Mandy's sleeping form. 

  
"Take it from an expert" he laughs, running a hand through his sunset colored hair, eyes scanning over Mickey, who must look as exhausted as feels because Ian offers to let him crash too. 

  
"Nah man, it's fine. Just make sure she knows her keys are in her jacket" Mickey thumbs at his nose, turning on his foot back towards the front of the apartment, unsure as to why his entire body feels like its moving in 2x speed as he walks down the concrete stairs and back towards the gates. The plan had been to stay at Mandy's, and he probably will for a few nights at least, but thankful in some way that the option of a hotel without having to justify being alone after only just now coming back into her life.  


He also finds himself thankful for the walk to the nearest Holiday Inn, running his hands alongside the jagged back of a stray cat as he turns towards a 24 hour coffee truck advertising a new Cereal Milk latte concoction. He can feel a presence as he's waiting, the weight of someone coming up behind him and on instinct he reaches for the small switchblade he keeps tucked in the side pocket of his jeans, fingers clenched around the smooth metal handle as he pivots, nearly colliding with Ian's broad chest. 

"Jesus fucking christ man, make some noise" Mickey exhales sharply, fingers dropping the knife inside his pocket, the gingers eyebrows shooting directly up towards the sky in amusement. 

"You left your wallet in the bathroom" Ian smirks, handing over the black leather mass in his palm. Its that same fucking smile, closed lipped and kicked to one side, green eyes narrowing, although now there are a few more lines in the freckled space against his temples. 

"Thanks" Mickey slides the wallet back into his pocket, keeping out a ten dollar bill and handing over to the Barista as she calls his name. Ian looks at the menu for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip in thought before actually ordering the fruit loop latte or whatever the fuck it was. 

"You in town long?" Ian asks, swiping his card against the white cube reader as his drink is made in the background. Mickey looks up from the paper cup in his hand and shakes his head. 

"Couple weeks probably, gotta get the house in order so Mandy can list it" he answers noncommittally before reaching across the metal bar for a packet of sugar, dumping it into the caramel macchiato he had decided on. Ian's smile fades for a split second, replaced as soon as the blue haired barista calls his name. 

"We should catch up, while you're here. You can tell me where you've been all this time" there's something about the last line that shoots directly into Mickey's chest, and almost as if it was a cue, he feels himself begin to walk away. 

"Sure, have a good night, man" he nods, shoving his free hand into his pocket to hide his shaking hands. He remembers, Mickey's sure of it, he remembers everything and the realization makes him feel like he's going to vomit.   



	3. Big Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of a party, memories and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer, a little more Ian this time. 
> 
> Work has been...difficult to say the least and after 40 hours a week of being screamed at for things outside of my control, writing just hasn't been flowing. Thankfully things have slowed down a little bit and I've got a thick stack of PTO taken off, so hoping to update this lil bb more frequently on top of a lil 30's detective AU I've been scribbling around on the backs of receipts. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks for existing.

**_"Mistake these terrible movements you make, you wrapped your heels around all the chairs, and you made me forget what I want and why I'm here, and you made yourself loud and you made yourself clear. Go quietly"_ **

_\- Big Deep, Laura Stevenson_

_It was Summer, with birds screeching and the sun splashing down against Ian's uncovered shoulders. Mickey swore he could see the freckles multiply in real time, like stars turning into constellations against milk white skin. It had been harder to ignore, the deep ache in his chest everytime the younger boy laughed, the way his hair would fall into his eyes. Mickey would punch him straight in the ribs instead of brushing the stray strands away with his finger tips the way his brain tempted him to. They were wasted, not even just the booze or the joint Ian had snagged from Lip's side of the bedroom, but on the freedom of being teenage boys in the middle of June. They passed a cigarette between their hands, and Mickey could taste the beer and onion flavored chips that had been on Ian's tongue with each drag. It start then, at least he thinks thats when it started, the looks, the lingering eye contact and the blush that crept up on his chest whenever he'd stare at the skinny ginger doing pull ups in the dugouts. He didn't act on it for weeks, ignored the rumbling in his throat whenever Ian's shirt would ride up, just enough to expose budding abs and soft flesh. Then it happened, the simplest change in position, suddenly chest to chest, hearts racing underneath cut off shirts and Mickey allowed himself to do more than wonder, to let his fingers slide up to the place between Ian's throat and chest, before pulling away as if he'd been lit on fire just moments before their lips collided. It would have seemed like nothing, if his uncle had passed by just a few seconds before, or even after. The universe had aligned in just the right position, fucked Mickey's life in the most delicately balanced manner, a could have been kiss that ended the world._

The memory fades from Mickey's dream just as Mandy's picture illuminates the dark hotel room, a faint ringing from across the floor as he shuffles, pressing the screen to his ear. She apologizes half a dozen times, for drinking too much, for passing out on his first night back in town. He brushes each one off, tugging on the pair of boots he kicked off approximately six seconds after stumbling through the door. They make plans to meet at the funeral home, to 'pick up Iggy' which sounds so normal that he almost forgets his older brother will consist entirely of dust shoved into a jar. Mickey takes his time leaving, running a wet hand through his hair, cringing at the dark stubble gathering across his chin. He makes a mental note to find a close Target, grab the shit he completely blanked on before packing his bags for Chicago and a few new pairs of clothes, the chilly Fall air digging through the lightweight long sleeves he had picked up a couple days before the trip.   
By the time he makes it to the front desk, it's nearly noon, and there's only a firm bagel and some bright purple, berry flavored cream cheese left in the breakfast lounge, which he devours anyway with a few swallows of pulp free orange juice before ordering another Uber. It's a chick this time, a little older than he is, with pale blonde hair and Kia Soul with the most obnoxiously pink interior he's ever seen before in his life. She doesn't talk though, turns the radio up and offers him a cranberry RedBull, which he gladly accepts. Mandy's waiting outside the dull gray building when he arrives, still in last nights clothes with half of her hair tossed into a messy bun at the crown of her head, the rest tangled and tousled as the wind blows a cloud of smoke from her lips towards him. 

  
"You ready for this?" she asks, stomping the cigarette beneath her shoe. He doesn't answer, just stands shoulder to shoulder with his sister, staring up at the blinking sign, hands shoved into his pocket. It felt real now, in the way it hadn't when she'd called him for the first time. The weight of it settled in his throat like a rock, it was just them now. Half of him wanted to call Iggy, tell him about this stupid shit, apologize for not being there, the other half wanted to scream and throw shit though the windows of the funeral home. They take a step in through the sliding doors into cold air and perfume covered flowers. Mickey imagines its to cover the scent of charred flesh and formaldahyde but can't be sure. 

  
"Hi, how can I help you" an older man appears from behind a drawn curtain, dressed in all black with an almost plastic like smile on his face that gives Mickey the creeps. Mandy must feel the same way, her body turning slightly more towards Mickey as she forces a professional voice that Mickey has to physically stop himself from laughing at.   
"We're here to uh....pick up...our brother" she explains, and that's enough to send Mickey into a stifled fit of laughter against the back of his hand. The ridiculousness of it all, like this was a drive thru and they'd placed a mobile order. The man with the plastic smile gives him a dirty look before softening his features and facing Mandy, who is open jawed glaring at her brother. 

  
"Of course, the last name please" the man, Jeremiah according to his name tag, types in their name into a computer, and Mickey lets himself wander to the display case of bouquets while Mandy works through the rest of the details. They're mostly generic, typical funeral roses, with extra large SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS cards stuck in the center. He runs a thumb across the edge of the hard cardstock, chewing at his bottom lip as his mind begins to wander off in search of any sort of distraction.   
  
_He'd walked, palms still covered in sweat and knees still weak from even the possibility of Ian's lips on his. He hated Gallagher for it, for getting under his skin, for so quickly wrecking what he had carefully built to shield himself from the thoughts in his head. He should have seen it coming, when he first the truck on the street beside his house and heard the roaring from inside. It wasn't the typical drunken laughter, or passive rage, but some kind of guttural reaction to what he had been told. Ronnie came barreling down the steps, avoiding his nephews face as he pushed through the rusted door of his Ford. Mickey was still oblivious when he pushed through the front door, cigarette dangling from his lips. It happened so quickly, the first kick to his gut, the second to his groin. Terry was screaming, words that didn't make it past the edge of the 16 year olds ears as fists and feet kept flying at him._

_"I'll fuckin kill you....no fucking son of mine.....pole smoking....queer" slowly rolled through the fog as blood splattered from Mickey's mouth onto the ground. He was gonna die, could feel it, see it flashing before his eyes as the sickening smell of piss soaked flooring and the now crushed cigarette rolled between the bleeding in his nose._  
_"I'll cut that Gallagher boy in half" was the last thing Mickey heard before he passed out the first of six times, his heart racing as he came back to consciousness a few seconds later as his fathers hands took grip of his hair, slamming his face back down against the wooden boards in one smooth motion. Momentarilly, he forgot all about his own pain, worried that in the time his eyes spent rolled back in his head, Terry had made good on his word to harm Ian. He couldn't make sense of it then, under the heavy blanket of denial, why he felt so protective over the redhead back then, why it was all he could think about while bleeding out on the living room floor. By the time Iggy had barged through the door, eyes glancing down at the scene in front of him, his mind had replayed the word 'love' over and over again, clinging to it. That alone hurt worse than the rib he was almost positive was broken._

"All set?" Mandy's hand shakes him from the thought, pulling him back down to the present. She's cradling the urn in her arms like an injured bird, a few tears tucked behind her eyes as she inhales sharply, the exhale shaking through her nostrils. 

  
"Yeah" he wraps an arm around her shoulders as they make their way back to her car parked outside.   
They don't speak on the ride to the house, both probably struggling with the same desire to burn it to the ground when they pull up. A few cars he doesn't recognize line the curb out front and for a moment he wants to scream, the thought of his father sitting inside on that busted couch digging in through his skull before he remembers that the fucker will probably die in prison this time. Mandy seems to sense his apprehension, pulling two cigarettes from her purse, handing one towards her brother before resting her head against his shoulder. 

  
"You okay?" he asks, taking a long drag of nicotine into his lungs. 

  
"Not really. I haven't been back here in years honestly, always made Iggy meet me somewhere else, even after Dad was gone. Feels weird" she confessed, chewing at her thumbnail before meeting Mickey's eyes. He nodded, understanding the sentiment completely. That house had been a prison to them both, Iggy was the only one who never abandoned it, didn't tuck tail and run for the hills. Part of Mickey wondered if Iggy had been spared from the darkest parts, but he also knew that was a naive fantasy to have, no one made it out of there without scars. 

  
"Lets get this over with" Mandy sighed, clicking the keys from the car and pushing her door open, taking one final breath before unlatching the gate.

///  
  
It's not as bad as he remembers it. Theres a throw rug tossed in the middle of the living room and a slightly less stained coat of off white paint on the walls. A few Milkoviches are still lounging around half a leather sectional, an empty cardboard box of pizza inbetween them. Mandy had filled him in, she was letting their cousins have the first pick of furniture before they started trashing stuff. Sandy had claimed most of it, enlisting her brothers for help moving the couch and two twin size beds from the back rooms. 

  
"Shit man, look at you" the 18 year old brunette beams, wrapping her arms around Mickey's shoulders, nose ring digging into his cheek. She'd been just kid the last time he'd seen her, with back alley braces stuck to her teeth and a choppy bob courtesy of Mandy in the dim lights of the bathroom. She was all grown up now though, long and lanky like most of the women in his family, with waist length waves and a smear of eyeliner across almond shaped eyes. 

  
"I know right, you're still ugly as fuck though so..." he laughs, embracing her back. She orders her brothers to finish loading the couch, whispering something about a run into their ears before turning her attention back to the siblings on her right, launching directly into a conversation about Mandy's hair, giving Mickey the perfect chance to wander to the kitchen, saying a small prayer that theres at least a lukewarm beer in the fridge. He cracks open a can of PBR, plucking at the pictures barely holding to the white metal surface, held in place with an assortment of magnets. There's one of Mandy, Sandy and Iggy in halloween costumes, a joint carefully hidden in Sandy's hand, another of Tony's memorial service, the pale pink flower crown they draped over a white casket. Mickey's photos, the ones that had been there before he left, seemed to have been stripped away, which he expected. 

  
He can still hear the girls laughing when he pulls away from the kitchen, feet slowly carrying him towards his old bedroom. The posters are still there, with a few new additions tacked up beside them. There's trash on every single surface, empty cigarette packs and smashed coke cans, a few discarded baggies with various powdered substances. He lets out a soft chuckle, picking up a stack of cd's, noting the ones he had obviously left behind, burned MP3's from the library computer. He wonders who all slept here, who came in and out, what they took of us. There's no anger behind the thought, he'd taken the only shit he really cared about with him the night he left ; a pocket knife, a few coins his mother had given him during her collecting days and a filthy Bon Jovi shirt he'd lifted from a thrift shop back in seventh grade. He still has the shirt, hanging in his closet back home, tucked between H&M v necks and dark wash jeans. 

  
"Everything how you remember it" Mandy asks, leaning against the doorway. He laughs, raising an eyebrow as he motions towards the cluttered floor. 

  
"picture perfect" 

  
They stand there for a while, unsure of where to start until Mandy suggests the living room. Sandy had kindly left them another mess to clean up, with empty Dr Pepper bottles and crushed beer cans falling into the space where the couch used to be. He drags the plastic trash can to the center of the room, grabbing handfuls of shit and shoving into the bag, by the sixth complete round he realizes they might be unmatched, and suggests they run to the store to get supplies, to which Mandy agrees enthusiastically, planting a kiss atop the urn. 

  
"Be right back, Igs" 

///  
  
The twenty minute trip to Target turned out to be much more of a thing than Mickey had intended. Right before they pulled into the parking lot, Mandy announced, rather sheepishly by Milkovich standards, that Ian would be joining them. She tried to pass it off as a happy coincidence, that the tall ginger was simply getting off work unexpectedly early and needed to grab a few things and that he'd suggested a really great Thai takeout place in the area. Mickey now found himself, sandwiched between his sister and Gallagher in line at Starbucks, drumming his fingers along the counter while the two debated the best cake pop flavor. 

  
"What do you think, Mick?" Ian asks, mischievous smirk burning a whole in the center of Mickey's stomach as he looks over at the clear counter beside him. He'd never been big on sweets, the sugar on them usually hurt his teeth and sank to the bottom of the stomach. 

  
"Salted caramel isn't bad" he shrugs, realizing for the first time that caramel seems to be his flavor of choice. 

  
"You ever gonna relax man? Been tense as hell since you've been back" Gallagher keeps pushing, green eyes meeting his own in a way that pulls the memory back to the surface, luckily the Barista cuts in, taking their order with a smile and a nod, even as Mandy adds six different varieties of syrup to a plain iced coffee. He doesn't answer Ian's question, just shoves past them as soon as his cold brew hits the counter and snags a red cart from the center of the store, making a beeline to the personal hygiene aisle.   
He thinks he might hate him again, the way he doesn't care, flaunting his memory in front of Mickey as if it was no big deal, as if the space that had shrank between them served as anything other than a bomb, detonating Mickey's entire planet in the span of two hours. He rubs at his eyes, willing the anger to subside as he stands in front of a row of shaving cream. He wants to go home, to the silence of his apartment and the emptiness he built for himself. It's easier there, to pretend, to deny. Something about Gallagher swells around him, makes him think of things that could of been, about a life that would have been possible under different circumstances. It hurts more that way, burns deep down into the core of his being. 

  
He tosses a random brand into the cart along with a three pack of razors and twists the cart around to the garbage bags, ignoring the giggling he can hear from two aisles over in the wine and beer section. He's not sure why he expected anything different. Mandy was still Mandy, bubbling over with energy and the need to be close, it made sense that she'd need Gallagher around now, that she had since Mickey left. He forgot sometimes, that he was her friend first, before the summer had stretched into a year of carefully distanced chaos between the two boys.   
But you fell for him. Something in the back of his head hisses in reminder, like a slap to the face that had been building for a decade. Mickey let his eyes close, taking a long swallow of coffee before tossing a box of contractor bags and three different varities of 409 on top of the shaving cream just in time for Mandy to round the corner, a box of hard cherry cider under her arm. They continue down aisles, and Mickey is painfully aware of Ian's movements the entire time, the fluidity in which he carries himself, black boots squeaking against the linoleum floors as he sways closer and closer. It isn't until Mandy steps away to take a work call that Ian opens his mouth again. 

  
"so hows Texas" he asks, raising an auburn brow towards the ceiling. Mickey rolls his eyes, ignoring the closeness between their arms as Ian leans down against the cart beside him. 

  
"Not freezin my ass off all the time, which is nice. There's a beach, money's decent" he rattles off betwen sips of coffee. Ian's eyes light up at the mention of the beach, and Mickey wonders for a moment, what the alien looking fucker would look like in a swimsuit, or how badly he'd burn in the Summer. 

  
"Don't know why you're smiling, you'd probably burst into flames, pasty bitch" he scoffs, earning a cackle from the gingers throat in response. 

  
"You look good" Ian says suddenly, before breaking his arm away from the cart and turning to an approaching Mandy before Mickey has a chance to answer.

  
"Fuck, I'm sorry guys, our cover model decided to go on a political rant and we're scrapping her. I've gotta get to the studio right now to oversee a new shoot with a replacement" she groans, digging around for the set of spare keys to her apartment. 

  
"Shit, no worries. Go take care of things boss lady" Ian smiles, pressing a kiss into her forehead before she turns her attention back to Mickey. 

  
"Go get dinner, catch up on some rest. We can pick back up on the house tomorrow, I'll send you some furniture links and we can kill two birds with one stone" her face is full of apologies as she slips the key into his palm, squeezing his shoulders into a hug before breaking off towards the exit, leaving him alone with Gallagher, who breaks into a sly smirk before heading towards self checkout, pulling the cart behind him.

  
///

  
Ian's car is nicer than he would have imagined, which seemed to be a running theme in the gingers life now. Mickey felt out of place again, jean clad legs rubbing against the cream leather interior of a brand new Cadillac XTS or whatever the fuck. The air smelled clean, thanks to a dangling jar full of Vanilla bean and orange peel covering up cloud of smoke rolling between Ian's fingers as he flicked his turn signal on. They hadn't said much else in Target, a few more questions about the beach from the redhead, but nothing that veered into painful memory territory for the smaller man. Mandy made good on her promise, spamming him with dozens of Ikea links and a few from random online stores that offered two day shipping. She was going for some kind of bohemian vibe, which had actually caused a small exhale of air to escape his lips. 

  
"What's funny" Ian asked, pressing his boot clad foot onto the break gently as they rolled towards a stop light. 

  
"Mandy thinks the house is gonna be some hipster paradise" he shrugs, running a hand through his hair, eyes darting towards the green ones looking at him before flickering away towards the window. 

  
"She's probably not wrong, gentrification is moving forward whether we like it or not" Ian yawns, stretching both arms over his head, lifting the hem of his t shirt just slightly enough to expose the end of orange happy trail. 

  
"Says the guy in a luxury apartment with a cadillac" Mickey scoffs, thumbing at his nose as the light turns green and Gallagher's foot finds its way back to the gas. 

  
"Shit changes Mick, you can change with it...or run from it" he can feel Ian turn to face him, just briefly, feel the weight in his words again. Part of Mickey wants to get the conversation over with, scream it all out, throw a fist and let it be over, but he can't, so he just inhales and nods, leaving the conversation to shrivel away as they finish the drive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it to the end!!!!!! I'm hoping to update on a fairly regular basis, but as a retail manager who knows what my schedule looks like at any given time these days!


End file.
